Chapter 4 - The Return of the Prodigal Son
Two days later, the doorbell of our temporary apartment rang.
I looked through the peephole. It wasn't Elmer. It was Walter, standing stiffly in his tailored tweed jacket, looking entirely out of place in this working-class neighborhood. His face was set in a scowl of forced arrogance, though a flicker of unease danced in his eyes.
I opened the door just enough to block his entry.
“Walter. To what do I owe the displeasure?”
“Don't use that tone with me, Joanna,” Walter barked, pushing past the doorframe anyway, forcing me to step back. He looked around the modest living room with visible distaste before turning his sharp gaze onto me. “You’ve caused enough chaos. Elmer is frantic. He came back from Indianapolis and found you gone. He says you’re cutting off communication.”
“Your son beat me, and your wife shaved our daughter’s head over a fabricated lie,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Why on earth would I want communication?”
Walter scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “A family dispute! Every family has rough patches. Lydia was harsh, yes, but she believed a lesson needed to be taught. As for Elmer... you provoked him by acting hysterical. Now, get your things. Elmer is waiting downstairs in the car. We are going back to the house, and we will put this behind us.”
At that exact moment, the inner door opened, and Louisa walked out carrying her stuffed bunny. When she saw Walter, she let out a frightened squeak and hid behind my leg.
Walter’s eyes flicked down to her bald head. For a split second, something resembling guilt crossed his rigid features, but he quickly masked it with cold pride.
“See? Look what stubbornness does. If you had just stayed put, none of this would have escalated.”
“You think this is escalation?” I asked softly.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and tapped the screen. The audio from the hidden camera began to play aloud in the quiet room—specifically the sound of Elmer sneaking into the master bedroom, sliding the gold bracelet into the wooden box, and whispering to himself about how easy it was to fool his mother.
Walter froze. The color drained from his weathered face.
“What... what is that?” he stammered, his authoritarian posture crumbling instantly.
“That is your precious son, Walter,” I said, stepping closer to him. “The golden boy. The one you trusted blindly. He didn't just steal your wife's most prized heirloom to frame a three-year-old child; he did it to create a diversion so he could raid our joint bank accounts and abandon us.”
Walter stared at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “No... no, that's impossible. Elmer would never... he respects us—”
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“He respects money, Walter. And right now, he’s using your home, your name, and your arrogance as a shield for his crimes.” I pulled out a printed copy of the bank transfer and the legal notice of the fraud investigation Marcus had just filed. “Your son didn't just rob me. He used you as a pawn. How does it feel to know you shaved your own granddaughter's head for a lie concocted by a thief sharing your blood?”
Walter staggered back, clutching the edge of the kitchen counter. The shock was absolute. The patriarch of the family, accustomed to controlling every narrative, had just been handed undeniable proof that his entire world was built on a foundation of betrayal by his own flesh and blood.
